


Love is a Rose that Blooms in Frozen Snow

by piggiellamamama



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Disney Princesses, La Belle et la Bête | Beauty and the Beast (Fairy Tale)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-22 15:46:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17062535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggiellamamama/pseuds/piggiellamamama
Summary: A retelling of the classic Beauty and the Beast, starting from the day Maurice goes out of town. Focused mostly on the developing relationship between Belle and Adam, starting of course when he was the beast.Watch their fairytale unfolds even long after the dreaded last petal falls.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for your ongoing support! Future chapters may contain adult content so please keep an eye out for the tags!

Belle lovingly bade her father farewell. “You have everything?” She asked Maurice as he donned his wide-brimmed hat. “Don’t forget to eat the food I packed you before it goes stale.” Belle said, sternly. Worry was nestled in each of her facial creases. “Yes, of course,” he replied gently. “I’ll be back with the rose, my dear! Wish me luck!” Maurice waved, as his horse began to pull the carriage away. After watching her father leave, Belle sighed, and entered the cottage alone. The silence inside her home was comforting, yet eerie. Her father was always tinkering away or humming while painting, and the stillness of the air reminded her of how much she would miss him-- the only person who saw Belle as more than some strange girl. 

She wasn’t alone long, though, for as she was doing simple chores, Belle was harassed by the locals. Embarrassed and irritated, she crouched by a bucket of spilled water and her soiled laundry in the town’s square. I make a pulley machine led by a donkey to wash my garments, and the townsfolk conduct a riot! She was careful not to let anyone see her cry, even though a part of her wanted to run and hide until her father returned. 

The young girl was then caught off guard, as the most popular man in the village came to witness the spectacle that was her misery. More than a foot taller than she, Gaston towered over her as she hoisted a bucket of soaked laundry upon her hip. Belle had minimal patience to spare, and to her chagrin, Gaston spoke. “They just don’t understand, Belle,” he said. “The changes you’re trying to bring are threatening to their very way of life.” She looked away and rolled her eyes, “Yes, well, where I’m from, women do this sort of thing.” Belle scoffed, “and they’re celebrated for it.” 

 

Gaston smiled in a way that he must have thought rather charming. Belle had a feeling it worked on plenty other women; perhaps, even earlier that same day. “You certainly aren’t like other women,” he replied, his eyes lingering on her damp bodice. Belle huffed and pulled the bucket towards her front, and readjusted the balance of her body weight. “Gaston, I have things to get to, so--” She said, blowing a stray piece of hair from her face. The man leaned in and took the laundry from her exhausted arms. “Let me help you with that,” he said, grinning with pride. 

 

Belle, hesitantly, led him into her home where he could place the laundry safely on her floor. “If you’re finished here--” her hand gestured to the doorway. Gaston smiled, “But, Belle, there’s something weighing on my heart.” He strode closer to her, quickly filling her personal space. “Look at this place-- so small, but quaint!” Gaston nodded, trying to erase any negative implications from Belle’s mind. “Your father is growing older, Belle, and you have no one else to, well, provide for you.” She grimaced, cowering against a wall and squeezing around the table in the middle of the room. “Gaston, thank you for your concern, but my Papa and I are perfectly happy as things are and, and--” Belle’s face was turning red as words were beginning to fail her.

 

“Think about it, Belle, you could have a life of your own, while raising your own family.” He chuckled, “and, a rather dashing husband to care for.” Shocked, her jaw went slack, “Gaston, you can’t possibly--” Without hearing another word, Gaston quickly explained, “I mean, I am not opposed to marrying you, because we could make beautiful babies together.” He walked around the table, pulling a chair out of the way and knelt down to take her hand in his. “Belle, I can put an end to the way these people treat you, and give you a life of comfort.” Gaston took a breath, “Will you marry me?” 

 

Belle took a step back, and upon seeing that he was between her and the only way out, she stuttered. “Gaston, I-I don’t know what to say,” she said, taking a step closer. Belle tucked the chairs back in as she went, making her hands look busy as she deliberately cornered her guest. “I’m- I’m flattered!” One of her hands was on his chest as the other was slowly turning the doorknob inward. “I just,” she took a small step back, and allowed her fingers to delicately fall from his chest. “I don’t deserve a man like you.” Gaston took a step closer, and when the door was opened Belle quickly pushed her laundry bucket against him and knocked him down from the doorstep. Dirty laundry and water covered him from head to toe, and Belle secured the door from the inside. 

 

When the brute had collected himself in an angry heap and shuffled away in his drenched waistcoat, Belle gave a sigh of relief and continued about her chores. She started with the laundry, once more, but this time took it to the backyard so she could painstakingly wash them all by hand as she turned her knuckles white stewing over the frustrations that Gaston brought upon her. “Imagine it-- me-- married to that brainless--ugh!” Her pale hands ground the clothes against the washing stones with all of the force she could muster. By the time she was finished, there was not a single stain left and everything smelled more fresh than the summer breeze. 

 

Suddenly, once she gathered her clothing back inside, Philippe, her father’s hose, had come rushing up the cobblestones. His whinnying put her heart into a panic. “Philippe! Where’s Papa?” Belle swung her shawl over her shoulders and secured it against her neck. “Take me to him!” 

 

*End Chapter One*


	2. A Grisly First Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Maurice is missing, Belle must go with Philippe to find him. Where Philippe takes her is most unexpected!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this second chapter, we near the exciting stages of this story-- the one-shots of events that happened leading up to the final petal falling, and every happy moment thereafter. Watch for the notes, for any warnings and ratings.

A Grisly First Impression

Chapter Two

 

After being led by Philippe on horseback, Belle noticed a chill in the air. The evening light had dimmed quickly, as the pair were consumed by the forest. The young woman shivered and pulled her hooded cloak tighter around herself. “Are y-you sure this is where Papa went?” Belle asked the horse, who only snorted in response. All at once, the trees parted and gave view of a dark and ominous castle, shrouded in a layer of fresh snow-- in the middle of summer! She gasped as Philippe cautiously made their way closer to the entrance. 

 

Once Belle could see the front steps, she removed herself the horse’s back. “Stay here, Philippe,” she instructed, before treading up the steps. Not wanting to be rude, the young lady knocked on the solid wood of the doorway. When nobody answered, Belle saw that the door was left slightly ajar. “Hello? Is anybody there?” She called out, nervously. Without thinking, she stepped further into the palace. The inside was, shockingly, even darker than the outside. So few details could be seen that she needed to feel her way around the rooms.

 

Desperately, she urged her feet forward, in spite of the fear filling the pit of her stomach. “Papa?” Her voice rang throughout the halls. Belle heard a sound similar to whispering from behind, and turned sharply to face her onlookers. “Who’s there?” The tone in her voice grew more impatient, and adamant. “Show yourself!” The whispering noises ceased, and she trudged onward in search of her father. 

 

After a short while she found herself drawn to a winding staircase located in a pillar of the castle. As Belle looked up, a cold draft blew forcefully downward from what she assumed to be an opened window. With all the courage she could muster, the young girl moved onward on her quest. Only a monster would put an old man in a place like this, she thought. Atop the staircase, there were several prison cells, but only one was occupied.

“Belle!” 

 

It was her father, chilled to the bone and locked away in what looked like a small cage. “Papa!” Belle cried, kneeling outside of his cell. Maurice took her hand in both of his, “You must go, now!” His daughter simply shook her head, I’ve only just found you! The man insisted, “Please, I won’t have him lock you up, as well!” Belle searched the walls for a key, but then a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness.

“Who are you?” She asked. The figure, hiding his visage, replied, “I am the master of this castle.” With a sneer, the masculine voice retorted, “Who are you?” Remaining calm, despite her growing nerves, Belle responded, “I’m his daughter. Please, let him go! Can’t you see he’s sick?” The nameless captor huffed, “He stole something of mine, and is now my prisoner.” Maurice interjected, “Yes, I picked a rose and am now serving a life sentence!” The young woman stood tall beside her father, “A life sentence just for a flower?” “Yes,” growled the master. 

 

Belle’s eyes lit up as she was struck by an idea, “Let him go, and take me instead.” “Take you?” Asked the figure cast in shadow. She squinted, trying to get a better look at whom she was speaking to. “Come into the light,” she calmly requested. Maurice rejected the plan entirely, “No, Belle! I won’t let you!” As he stepped into the moonlight, the beast’s large stature and grisly features were exposed to Belle. Her brown eyes welled up at the sight of the monster before her, and Maurice reached for his daughter through the bars of his cell. 

“Belle, no! I’m your father; I have lived my life!” The man tried to reason with his child. She nodded, and turned to the beast. “Can I at least say goodbye?” Beast snarled, and turned away. Belle raised her voice, “Forever can spare a minute!” At that, the captor allowed Belle a moment to say farewell for her father. “Once this door closes, it will never open again,” the beast warned. She held her father tight and gave a sincere apology. Then, with a swift turn, she forced her father out of the cell and shut the door behind him. Beast looked at her through scrutinizing eyes, “You took his place.” Belle replied in kind, “He’s my father.” 

 

Maurice was, albeit forcibly, removed from the palace and sent on his way back home. All the while, Belle cried in her lonely, cold prison cell, dreading the rest of her years being spent in such a wretched place. Within a moment, as she was crying, there was the sound of a metal door opening. A porcelain teapot, a golden candelabra, and an antique clock all went to greet the young lady. “Don’t worry, Dear,” the teapot said. “Yes,” the candlestick began to explain, “we are here to take you to your room, Mademoiselle.” Belle wiped a tear from her eyes, “B-but I thought…” 

“Oh, you thought, ‘once this door closes it will not open again?’” The candelabra asked, having done a fair imitation of the beast. She managed a smile, “W-well, yes.” The clock came closer, and leaned toward the candle, “Lumiere, I do not think it wise to--” Belle was not able to hear Lumiere’s reply, but was immediately curious. “We’re going to my room?” She asked, realizing now that she perhaps should be more concerned about talking knick-knacks. The teapot hopped over, “Yes, Dearie, we’ll make sure you’re comfortable.” The young girl contemplated the idea of comfort while being held captive, but thought it wise not to discourage her new friends’ efforts. “Please, show me where it is,” she encouraged.


	3. No Rest for the Weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After that fateful night, when Belle was taken prisoner in the place of her father, tensions are high in the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three of this Fanfiction series. No warnings. Enjoy!

No Rest for the Weary  
Chapter Three

 

Belle, having been serenaded at her first meal within the palace, fell asleep as her head first touched the pillow. The whole day, right down to the minute, had felt like a horrible dream. First, Gaston’s proposal, and then her father’s disappearance, and worst of all, her eternal imprisonment. In her heart, she knew that she would see her father again someday, but she had no way in knowing how to make it so. Soundlessly, Belle shed tears in her sleep until the first morning’s light. 

 

***

Meanwhile, in the west wing, the master stewed over the girl’s insubordination. “She’s a prisoner in my castle-- I asked her to come to dinner and she refused. Why is she being so difficult? Tomorrow, she’ll be so hungry that she’ll have no excuse for not attending a meal.” Beast said aloud to himself, trying to sort through his anger. His servants had given him advice and it led him nowhere, but back into his tattered chambers. Even the walls were slashed, depicting the sheer pain that the master felt upon seeing his cursed form. There was no comfort to be found here; save, only, for the enchanted rose which still clung to an assortment of red petals. For, when the last one fell, it would mean that the castle and all of its inhabitants would remain in their cursed state, forever. 

 

***

Faithful as ever, the sun rose, illuminating the frostbitten forest just beyond the castle walls. Trees, tall and green, covered with tufts of fresh snow. The lake was frozen over, and the grass was a blanket of shimmering white. By the entrance, a teacup could be seen offering a carrot before a lone horse. Inside the kitchen, the hustle and bustle of breakfast being prepared gave off an inviting warmth. Atop the grand staircase, to the east, a girl was just waking from a night of dreamless slumber. She pulled the covers aside, and stepped into a pair of slippers. Belle saw the peaceful, dreamy white of the world and her heart was filled with hope. 

 

***

Groggily, Beast arose from his disheveled king sized bed. The sunlight barely hit the windows at this hour, and the room was rather dim. Just like most evenings, he tossed and turned in his sleep, unable to calm his mind. The girl’s arrival in the palace disrupted his usual brooding, but any hope he had felt upon meeting her had vanished. Beast knew she could never love him, and so why should he try? His heavy feet rested on the floor, and he hoisted himself up from the misshapen mattress. If nothing else, a warm cup of tea would at least help clear Beast’s mind of negative thoughts.

 

***

 

Mrs. Potts was setting the table when Belle hesitantly walked in. “If only I knew how early you started breakfast, I would have rushed down to help.” She said, upon noticing the great effort being made for just one meal. Mrs. Potts shook her head, “Nonsense, Dear, you had a long day yesterday.” The motherly teapot sighed, “I’m glad you at least were given a proper supper.” Belle smiled as she remembered the excitement of the evening before. “Thank you all again,” she said, gesturing to the staff scampering around her. 

 

Lumiere spotted the girl from his spot on the table, “Ah, good morning, Mademoiselle!” Cogsworth hobbled over to extend a greeting as well, “Good morning.” The candelabra glowered at the clock, “Such an informal greeting for our lovely guest.” Lumiere bowed graciously to Belle, “I hope you had only pleasant dreams last night, my lady.” The girl smiled, “I slept just fine, thanks to you all for cheering me up at dinner.” 

 

The master was turning the corner to the dining hall when he overheard Belle’s voice. Before he showed his face, a thousand angry thoughts raced through his mind. Dinner? Last night? How dare they? Mrs. Potts was scooting along on the serving cart, when she saw Beast peeking through the doorway. With concern, she approached him. “Well now, whatever is the matter?” Her tone was kind and full of compassion. Beast sighed, letting out some of his frustration. “You fed her dinner?” He accused, in a solemn voice. Mrs. Potts stood up as straight as her porcelain figure would allow her. “Yes, Master, we weren’t going to sit by and let the poor child go hungry.” Beast was silent, watching Belle talk to his loyal servants. 

 

Mrs. Potts cleared her throat, “Breakfast is about to come out, why don’t you go have a seat now?” A low growl emitted from Beast and he entered the room, loudly slamming the door behind him. Everyone jumped at the sound, and went completely still as the master took his seat at the head of the table. Belle looked down and sat as far away as she could manage. 

 

“Cogsworth,” Beast broke the silence in a commanding tone. The servant went to his master, “Yes, Sir?” With a tight fist, the beast continued, “What was on the agenda for last night?” Belle shifted her weight on the cushion of her seat, her eyes were wide with anxiety. “Why, uh, the cutlery was polished, and, uh, well--” Cogsworth stammered. Lumiere chimed in, “We tuned Maestro Cadenza, Sire.” Beast huffed, “Then what is this I’ve been told about a dinner?” 

 

Belle stood up abruptly, her knees catching on the table and causing the china to rattle. “Don’t get mad at them, it was my fault!” She said, clenching her skirt. “Oh, I have no doubt about that,” replied her angry captor. She remained standing, her pulse throbbing in her ears. Lumiere lowered his candlestick arms in an cordial gesture, “Please, Sire, you said if she doesn’t eat with you, then she does not eat at all.” He opened his arms, “But look, you are both present this time!” Beast grumbled under his breath, before giving in, “Fine, she can stay.” Belle gave a sarcastic curtsy, “Why, thank you.” 

Mrs. Potts returned with several other serving carts, all full of dishes ready to be eaten. “Breakfast is served, my dears!”


End file.
